Sleeping with the Spirit
by Jasminejadema
Summary: Bella Swan moves to an old house in Forks,Washington and starts to have these strange dreams that are become a reality,then this certain bronze haired, green eyes boy comes.Edward X Bella - EWE-
1. Night time talk

**AN: I DON'T TWILIGHT OR THE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO SM. i just own my OCs.**

* * *

I wake up in a cold sweat---a sharp, biting sensation stretches down the length of my spine and gives my fingers this tingly feeling. I pull the purple covers around my shoulders and my heart beats fast.

And noticing the ache in my fair skinned wrist.

I click the reading lamp on and look down at the spot. Another soon-to-be bruise—a giant red welt that covers the front of my wrist and wraps around to underside. So I grab my pen on my bedside and add another point to the tally I've been keeping for the past two weeks since I moved here—to make the sixth time this has happened.

_SIX _times.

_SIX _times that I've woken up with a sore spot on my body. Six times I found myself lying awake in my bed, way to terrified to fall back asleep. Because of the voice that haunts my dreams.

Ever since we moved to the gloomy town of Forks, Washington I've been having these weird nightmares. In them, I hear a male voice. I never see his face. It's just his voice, whispering things that I don't want to hear—that ghosts exist, that I need to listen to him, that he won't let me rest until I do.

Luckily, I'm able to force myself awake. But that's when he grips me—so hard it leaves a mark.

I know it sounds completely crazy and at first I tried to find some logical explanation—maybe I had twisted my arm the wrong way during the night; maybe I had banged my leg on the corner of my bed or rolled over into an awkward position. I tried telling myself that dreams were the result of stress—moving from sunny Phoenix, Arizona; of changing high schools and leaving al my friends behind. I mean, there's bound to be a period of adjustment, right?

But now I know that it's more than stress. Because, between the bruising and the aching, and the growling sacks underneath my brown eyes from the lack of sleep, I feel like things are getting worse.

"Bella?" my mother, Renee asks, standing by my bedroom door. "What are you doing up?" I bury my wrist in the mound of covers, noticing how the smell of him—spiced apple—still lingers in my sheets. "You were moaning in your sleep," She continues. I know that I sleep talk but this was getting really serious. I glance at the fire red numbers glowing in my digital alarm clock. Its 4:05 a.m. "Ehh a bad dream I guess," I say trying to shrug it off, I never was the best liar.

She nods and plays with the belt on her robe, just lingering there in the doorway, until she finally ventures the question: "You're not hearing voices again, are you?"

I study her face, wondering if she can handle the answer, but then decides that she can't. So I shake my head, watching the expression shift from anxiety to relief. She lets out a breath and forces a smile, still fidgeting with her robe, probably wondering about my sanity and if I need to go to an asylum.

But that's okay.

Because I wonder about it too.

This isn't the first time my parents have found me awake in the wee hours of the morning. This isn't the first time they complained about the moaning, or given me that frightened look—the ones that says I'm going crazy.

Or noticed all my bruises.

The first time I got one was around my ankle—a large purple splotch, lined with a handful of scratches. The night it happened, I went to their room, asking if they could hear the voice, too, wondering if maybe someone had broken into our house—if maybe the voice wasn't part of a dream at all.

But my parents said no, they hadn't heard anything. They looked particularly concerned after my father had checked things out, upon my insistence, like they were far more scared _for_ me then _with_ me.

"Do you want me so fix you some warm milk?" Renee asks now.

"No thanks," I say, still able to hear the voice from my dream. It plays in my mind's ear—a sow and rhythmic breath the pushes out the two syllables of my name over and over again: _Bell—a, Bell—a, Bell—a._

"I just want to get back to sleep," I lie, catching a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror. My normally chocolate brown eyes are troubled with veins of red. And my hair is a mess—an unruly tangle of dark brown waves swooped high atop my head in a sloppy ponytail, because I can't deal with having to style the high-maintenance mane.

Because I haven't gotten a full night's sleep since we moved to this damn house.

"Good night, mom," I whisper, and lie back on my pillow to appease her, so she'll go back to bed. I grab my blue ipod chromatic and select Clair de Lune in hopes that it'll calm me down.

In hopes that it will drown out his voice

* * *

**AN TIME**

**Okay so this is my VERY FIRST story on fan fiction. so review and yeah that stuff. To me Bella sorta seems outta character so don't kill me for that...........this WHOLE story came to me thought a dream. and I'll try to update every single day. and flames are allowed since i need criticism.**


	2. French Cheese and Friends

AN: I DONT OWN THE ORGINAL TWILIGHT CHARATERS (Bella,Edward,Charlie,AND Renee) THEY ALL BELONG TO SM  
I JUST OWN MY OCS (Brooke,Beverly,Tristan, and maybe more in the future.)

thanks soo uber much to SHOW NO MERCY and LADYALICECULLEN for being the first 2 people to EVER give me a review so this chapter is deticated to both of you. okay so think im talking way to much again so im just gonna stop talking....soooo.....ON WITH THE STORY

* * *

The following day at school, Monsieur Dubois, my French teacher, pairs us all up to do a role playing exercise. I've dubbed myself Isabelle, since it was the closes thing to Isabella, my full first name. My partner Beverly is Alice. **(AN: ha-ha I just had to)** We begin by chatting about our hobbies and school schedules, and then when Monsieur is far too preoccupied as he hangs pictures various types of French Cheese—and Beverly and I have reached the limits of our French vocabulary—she tells me (in English) that last year, mid-December right before the sophomore semiformal, she was the new kid, too.

"It seriously sucks having to leave your whole life behind," she says, weaving her espresso—dark hair into a medium braid at the side of her head.

I nod, thinking about my best friend, Valerie back at home, wondering what she was doing now, and if she found another girl to replace me.

And if she's missing me, too.

"So, I notice you haven't really been hanging with anyone," Beverly continues. "I saw you sitting by yourself in the cafeteria the other day. That's social suicide, you know. If left untreated, it can lead to SOCIAL ROADKILL."

"Road kill??"

She nods, still braiding her hair, trying to get her layers woven in perfectly. "It's a killer for the social life—sets you up for the rest of your high school career, especially being midyear, you know. Everybody's been already cliqued—off."

"Cliqued-off?"

"Yeah," she says, her brown eyes bulging slightly like it comes to a big, fat shock that I don't quite get her lingo—especially since we're both speaking out native tongue now. "Everybody's already settled into their cliques," she explains. "People will see you as a loner. I mean unless you _want_ to be alone…."

"I hadn't exactly given it much thought."

"Well you _should_," she says. "Because there isn't much time."

I feel my face scrunch, as clueless to her philosophy as I am to her vocabulary. "Want _my_ opinion?" she asks. I open my mouth to switch the subject, to ask about the next homework assignment, but then Beverly gives me her opinion anyways: "Why sulk about a bad move to Forks Washington, a whole hour's drive to Port Angels…? On a _good_ day, that is. Bottom line: You should totally hang out with Tristan and me."

At the same moment, a boy with long skater hair and glasses, who I presumed to be called Tristan, swivels around his seat. "Did somebody call?"

"Tristan, Isabella; Isabella, Tristan," she says to introduce us. "Well I like to be called Bella, not Isabella," I mumbled.

"Enchante," Tristan says faking a horrible fake French accent. "But the names Nicolas until the bell rings."

Beverly rolls her eyes and then gives Tristan the lowdown on my "situation," turning my new—kid status into a social diagnosis. According to her I've only got another week, TOPS, to bounce back from my loner status before I'm permanently branded a dweeb.

"Don't mind Beverly," Tristan says, clearly sensing my discomfort. "She tends to get a little carried away by social politics."

"_Whatever…" _Beverly says, wrapping a black rubber band at the end of her braid, having to finally gotten it perfect. "You know I'm right."

Tristan shrugs and focuses back on me. "So, what do you say? Table for _Trois_ starting tomorrow?"

"You're such a cheese-ass," Beverly says, undoubtedly referring to his horrendous French.

"Sounds good." I smile, confident that this is the first time I've felt somewhat normal since I moved here.

* * *

**AN:**

AGAIN THANKS FOR READING PART 2 OF MY FIRST FANFICTION EVER. SO FOR ALL THAT REVIEW I WILL GIVE YOU A COOKIE ;] AND IF YOU WONDERING WHEN EDWARD COMES IN.....WELL SINCE YOU HAD TO READ THE SUPER LONG AN FROM EARLIER...NEXT CHAPTER. THERE. SO REVIEW,FAVORITE AND SUSCRIBE TO THIS STORY. AND SORRY FOR SUCH A SHORT CHAPTER. I HAVE A POOL PARTY TO GO TO SO THATS WHY ITS SHORTER. I PROMISE 3 LONGER CHAPTER IN THE FUTURE THOUGH.


	3. The meeting

**A/N and DISCLAIMER:  
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE STORY EXCEPT BEVERLY,TRISTAN,AND BROOKE. EVERYONE ELSE BELONGS TO SM.**

**DEDICATED TO ONE OF MY BFFS: Yay Its Beverly**

**okay so here's the longest chapter I've written so far. and i hope you enjoy it. please when i put up and AN read it. it should contain some random talking or something important. Yay Its Beverly was the ONLY one that reviewed CH2. and she reviewed TWICE. so HA 2 COOKIES FOR HER.**

* * *

I'm in my room when the clock downstairs bongs 11:00 p.m., but I don't want to go to sleep. I run my fingers over my wrist, noticing how the red marks has morphed into a deep shade of purple, and how the knot in my stomach gets bigger with each chime

I've done all my homework, taken my shower, and alphabetized all the books on my shelf, trying hardest to stay awake, but after reading _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and the first 6 chapters of _Pride and Prejudice_ I feel myself start to doze.

Until I hear a knock on my door.

"Come in," I call, assuming that it's my mother. She often likes to check on me at night.

But the door still doesn't open

I sit up in bead and click on the silver bedside lamp. "Mom, is that you at the door?"

No one answers

I let out a sigh and get up and move towards the door. I try to turn the knob, but it doesn't budge, like I've been locked inside.

"Mom?" I repeat, still trying to get the knob to turn. I pound on the door, hoping to get my parent's attention down the hall.

But no one comes. And the knob still wouldn't turn.

"Bella," a voice whispers from somewhere behind me _HIS_ voice—the one from my dreams.

I turn to look, my heart thumping hard **(A/N I wanted to leave you here with a cliffy so be happy that I didn't)**

"Are you ready to talk?" his voice continues.

I glance around the room, but I don't see him anywhere. Meanwhile everything looks different now. My bed is draped in navy blue linens rather then the lavenders from just a moment ago. And the pictures of me and Valerie—thought the years covering the walls have been replaced with racks of CDs, car models, and baseball posters. I shake my head, wondering where I am, knowing this isn't my room at all.

And that I shouldn't be here.

"We need to talk," his voice whispers I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

'I whirl around trying to swipe him away, but no one's there. And then the lamp my bed goes out leaving me in complete darkness.

A moment later, the moon casts a strip of light thought my window illuminating a corner of the room. Where a shadow moves along the wall

I go for the door again. I pound and kick against it, then yank the door knob with all my might.

But nothing works.

"Don't be afraid," he says, stepping into the moonlight, and allowing me to see him—his bright emerald green eyes, and a crooked smile. He must be my age eighteen or nineteen at the most, with at least 10 inches of height over my 5'4—ness, and messy bronze hair, the most beautiful I've EVER seen.

As he moves closer, a shadow lifts from his brow, revealing a gash on his forehead, like he's been hit with something.

The wound is fresh and deep.

"My name is Edward," he says. "And I've been waiting so long for someone like you."

Dresses in all black, from the t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest to the rubber—soled converse **(AN: link to the picture of his shoes are on my profile)** adorning his feet, he stares at me—hard—his eyes refusing to blink

"S-S-S-Someone like me?" I managed to stutter out

He nods and moves a little closer. "Someone who can see and hear me. I've been waiting so long to be heard." I try to take another step back, but between him and the door I am completely trapped

"I'm sorry about your wrist." He reaches out to touch it, but I snatch my hand away before he can. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he continues. "I was only trying to hold onto you so you wouldn't wake up." He takes another step, only inches from me now. "It's rough for us ghosts. We don't know the power of out own strengths, especially when we're trying to make physical contact with those who aren't asleep, or, like you on the verge of waking up. It's all about frequency and energy. Very complicated stuff." He smiles. A perfectly crooked smile.

I shake my head and struggle to wake up. I think he must sense it because a moment later he clenches around my forearm.

"Please," he urges his face all serious. "Don't leave me tonight."

"NO!" I shout pulling away.

He tries to grab my arm back, but my screams wakes me up.

"Bella?" Charlie, my dad asks, throwing open my bedroom door.

I sit up in bed and try to catch my breath, noticing how everything in my room looks normal again—my lavender bed covers and the pictures on the wall.

"Are you okay?" he checks around the room

I try to nod, even thought I feel anything but okay—even thought a warm and tingling sensation still lingers my forearm.

* * *

**A/N:  
Okay thats the end of chapter 3 and yay Bella finally met Edward. also if Bella seems sorrta out of charater im sorry because i was sorrta using my personality. i hope you like it and (early) HAPPY 4TH OF JULY, DONT BLOW YOURSELF UP WIFF FIREWORKS. that also brings up a point. i migt not be able to update tomorrow since its 1) the 4th of july 2) im busy with a BBQ 3) my parents might not let me bring my laptop with me. so sorry for that dissapointment, i might also not update because i havent been getting alot of reviews so till i get about 15-20 reviews there _WILL NO BE A CHAPTER 4_(story wise not a/n wise) . OKAY SO MY ENGLISH TEACHER FROM LAST SCHOOL YEAR MADE US DO A CREATIVE WRITING PROJECT, AND HE GAVE A C+ BECAUSE MY IDEAS WERENT THAT "CREATIVE" SO I WANT YOU GUYS IN YOUR REVIEWS TO A) REVIEW....duh B) GRADE MY FIRST 3 CHAPTERS ON THE IDEAS AND CRAP LIKE THAT. YOU CAN USE FROM AN A+ TO AN F-  
AND REVIEWERS GET FIREWORKS.**

_**iLY  
BlackxRosex27 A.K.A. Jasmine**_


	4. Authors Note I

**Hey guys I know you were hoping for a chapter but for now I'm going to stop writing till I get ATLEAST 10 reviews, also HAPPY 4****TH**** OF JULY. Don't blow yourself up (: okay so that's it for my first author's note. If you want we to continue then tell your friends, sibling, and family about this story. So happy 4****th**** of July and don't blow yourself up with fireworks, (but I never said that you can blow anyone else up XP ) **

**IlY**

**~Blackxrosex27 A.K.A. Jasmine**


	5. Authors Note II

**Wow guys you really can respond and read and yehh stuff like that. Okay so I've decided to keep writing so as your reading this A/N I'm currently typing so I'll post chapter 4 by later this evening or tomorrow around 12pm PST. TY SOOO much (:**

**iLy**

**Blackxrosex27 AkA: Jasmine **


	6. BLOODBATH

**I DON'T OWN TWILIGHT. The day I do is the day I stop being clumsy…which is never. I only own my OCS Beverly, Tristan, and Brooke.**

**A/n okay everyone thanks for waiting soo long for chapter 4. so I'll stop typing and let you guys read this.**

At lunch time the following day, instead of sitting by myself, I'm flagged down by Beverly and Tristan. Apparently Beverly dyed her espresso brown into a reddish brown color. It was a total blessing to be sitting with them. Social road kill aside, I'm in serious need of a diversion. I just can't stop thinking of my dream last night.

I wish there was someone I could talk to about everything, but it's sort of like when my sister died. I tried to explain what I felt then, too-what I knew had happened but no one understood.

And how could they?

How can anyone make sense of something so nonsensical: the sight of my sister Brooklynn-Brooke for short, in her baler outfit—the one she wears to piano classes, practices, after performances, or just around the house. She'd been in a coma for ten whole months.

But I still saw her that day; she opened the front door of out house, crossed the living room to kiss me good-bye, and then vanished without a word.

I knew it was her ghost that speared to me. I know she has died. When I tried to tell Renee, she buckled to the ground, refusing to believe me, telling me I was cruel and in sensitive for making up such horrible lies. But then not even five minuets later, Charlie called from the hospital and told up that Brooke has passes away.

Tristan slides a bowl of crinkle fries **(A/N: haha I LOVE crinkle fries)** and sweet-n-sour sauce **(A/N: that too) **"How's it going?" he asks.

Beverly frowns at the offering, "You really wanna nauseate the girl on her first day sitting with us?"

"Actually," I say "This looks great" We ended up trading lunches like in elementary school—a few of his fries for a couple of my peanut butter stuffed celery sticks. And then Tristan suggests that we all get together this weekend. "Beverly can I could give you a tour of Forks," he says

"It should take only five minuets," Beverly jokes glancing down at the purple bruise on my wrist.

I tug my red Hollister sleeve down to cover it over, and then give them a thumb up for the tour. We ended up making plans for Saturday night at 7:00 pm. Sharp. Tristan offers to pick me up, and that's when I tell them my address.

"ARE YOU KIDDING?" Beverly gasps, almost choking on a boba **(A/N it's also known as a tapioca pearl. Go Google it up. And yeah I got that idea because we used to get these really crappy kind that we chocked on all the time…okay long AN so back to the story)** from her tapioca milk tea. "THE _BLOODBATH_ HOUSE!?!"

"What are you talking about?" I stopped mid—chew

"No big deal," Tristan says, trying to make light of it. "Just your typical friendly neighborhood---"

"BLOODBATH!!!" Beverly bursts out. "Didn't the real estate agent tell you the history of your house?"

I shake my head as they give me the detail: A seventeen year old boy was murdered there; the police found his body in the bathroom and it was the mother's boyfriend who did it.

"Apparently a blow to the head" Tristan explains. "The boyfriend hit him with a crowbar and he landed HARD against the cast—iron tub."

"Hence the bath of blood," Beverly added.

"Lovely," I say trying not to faint from the thought of the blood and thinking of the boy in my dream—he had a gash oh his forehead

"Seriously," Beverly continues, "I don't even know how you can sleep at night. People say the place is crazy haunted."

"I can't sleep at night," I say feeling my stomach churn. "I mean not usually."

"Well that would explain it," she says. "I mean, I hate to be rude but your packing some serious baggage under those peepers and I'm not talking about Dior's."

"Nope. Not rude at all. "Tristan says

Beverly hands me a stick of cover up and explains that it's "the good stuff," reserved only for after her late night study marathons.

"Which is why it's never been used," Tristan clarifies. While they bickered, I slide back my chair, fighting the urge to chuck my French fries at them.

"Are you okay?" Tristan asks, probably noticing the sickly look on my face. "Yeah" Beverly jokes "your head isn't gonna do a three—sixty on us is it?" all I need now is a hunk of spew in my duck sauce.

"I have to go," I say getting up from the table. I grab my books and bolt out of there trying not to trip on anything, forgetting Beverly's stick of cover up, since its gonna take a hell lot of make up to fix what's going on inside my house

And in my dreams.

**A/N okay there you go chapter 4. hope you liked it. Now I want you to do a few things.**

**review**

**subscribe**

**favorite**

**And finally **

**4. read my friend Beverly's (aka Yay its Beverly) story UNTOLD TRUTHS, and ILY Beverly for dedicating that story to me. xD**

**chapter 5 will be posted either tomorrow or Saturday.**


	7. Authors Note III

I apologize for any one following this story if you thought this was going to be an update to this fic.

* * *

I began writing this story around the beginning of summer 2009 when I was a thirteen year old die hard _Twilight_ fanatic. At that same time I discovered my passion for reading and writing short stories. Now at seventeen years of age, I have lost an interest in the _Twilight Saga_ and moved on to write actual original short stories. However, I do enjoy what I wrote as an early teenager so I am on the lookout for someone to adopt this fic, and finish what I started writing. I still have a plot bunny for this fic and if anyone is willing to adopt this story I would appreciate it if they stuck to it, but feel free to change up what I wrote as a child, but I do ask that you would keep all the OCs as well as their appearance since I based them off of my friends back in middle school. Again I apologize for cutting the plot short and ending you, my readers with an Ending, What Ending? Story.

So now I open the story up to you. If you would like to adopt my fic and make it your own, it would be greatly appreciated if you send me an "application" if you would call it that on what is required below via review or PM (preferred).

Thank you.

Until next time,

Jasminejadema (formerly talktothewall and blackxrosex27)

06.25.2013

* * *

Application for an adoption of _Sleeping with the Spirit  
__**All items bolded are required**_

_**Name / Penname: **_

_**Age:**_

_**Why would you like to adopt Sleeping with the Spirit: **_

_**Where would you like to bring the plot t:**_

_**What is your writing background:**_

_**Will you increase the rating( T - M ):**_

_Do you intend on adding any more characters to the fic (both canon and OC): _

_Write a sample paragraph of the next chapter the way you envision it: _


End file.
